Something New, Something Different

If there are any of my followers on Twitter reading this (@MrJW18), I mentioned in passing last week about the potential publishing of some of the poetry I have been writing this semester in my course. Now, I do not claim to be an expert on the poetic metre or iambic pantameter etc. rules, but rather flout them so often that I give up. I give you a short tasters of my bizzare efforts so far, and if one can disect just a little meaning, than all the more kudos for me. One of these is my first attempts in the deceptively difficult Haiku, a small but hopefully adequate piece of writing. The next is a discussion of the celebrity culture of youth in society and was drawn upon the quite recent death of Whitney Houston, as per the task of writing something in line with relevence to the general public at the moment. Finally, a spin on the seven basic plots (soemthing I despair at so often as a writer) and crossed that over with the context of the Seven Sins. It made for an interesting line of thought and I hope it engages the reader all the same, in admiration or utter hatred.

So, without further ado...

Second Chance

Stone’s drop in chasm pit
For all new stars do await
Shells break anew, alive.

In Memoriam

And so bells toll you last encore

In death, your actions once abhorred

Repented in first light; we say your last rites.

Shot in open streets of New York or out of sight

By golden cisterns, the dirty business done.

So good night the Madonna of our years, hit

of our lives, King or Queen of vibes.

Into the great Nirvana you meet your tribes.

Lest we remember you as then before

As man’s weak flesh we live now, we adore

That immortal LP you sang as saints chant

In father’s paradise, you sneak forbidden plants

and sniff them, as you do, tripping in ecstasy,

Baby , that’s how we roll in this Purgatory.

So let your last not fall to dying ears, in step

to those souls as you slept.

Your last now, the final curtain falling softly

Never to hear prayers in your name. Such a shame.

And now you take the dear beloved, worshiped

In her casket of water. If they were only dressed.

Still, we listen in our bright young crowds,

Knowing not the mortal, but as Gods in clouds.

The Seven Basic Plots

And so man reinstated fine principles of their inheritances

One...

After

One...

After

The FIRST plot is his long gaze,

feeling so amazed at what gifts

his fathers have wrought.

A fine construction if there had ever been one.

The SECOND, an equal inheritance.

Courting tactfully his mistress in waiting,

Weaving in his slavish lexicon

and lusting so shamelessly in

utter filth as he lies atop.

The THIRD – Mad – Primal – Urge!

Let the beasts see their impunity

for Man has its supremacy;

shan’t that meet feed us well tonight.

The FOURTH, is all life’s little eases.

You work at my will, don’t you?

This little cheat has got her wires crossed,

I tire of its stupidities – system needs updating.

The FIFTH, all an illusion,

“See the titans do battle!”, “See them all burn!”

Isn’t He the cat with the cream?

Just as empires fall around his ears…

The SIXTH –

Idiot!

Imbecile!

I will show them what this fight was made for…

The SEVENTH Sabbath

God’s taken a rest and wise words

When the Superman rises from the ashes.

No world, no thought, no worship.

A new Emperor takes His new clothes,

            it’s ripe for the pickings.